


Within a Story

by orangeCrates



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, based on a Chinese folk/ghost story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:50:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1809259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeCrates/pseuds/orangeCrates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows that nothing good ever comes out of a spirit and a human falling in love. And yet it always happens, because it's a story people tell, one about star-crossed lovers and betrayal and tragedy.</p><p>But though it is true that all stories contain a certain amount of truths, it is made up of just as many lies. So is the ending truly so inevitable? Or is it a self-fulfilling prophecy? Is a relationship like this doomed from the beginning or does it happen because, after years of everyone telling you it is, a part of you cannot help but doubt...?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on the TVB adaptation of the story of 'Ah-Ying', a short story about the marriage between a bird spirit and a human from an anthology of Chinese ghost stoires/folktales written in the Qing Dynasty called "Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio" otherwise known as Liaozhai. This story is not set in China though...for obvious reasons, I think.
> 
> These types of stories have always been near and dear to my heart as they are the stories from my childhood (along with Studio Ghibli films and wuxia stories), so I'm kind of excited to write this! And also kind of embarrassed because, pfff, this feels kind of self-indulgent...

_There once was a tea house just outside of town where, for the price of a story, you could enjoy their tea free of charge._

_The owner accepted stories of all sorts, no matter the quality or length, the only stipulation is that they had to be stories that featured the fantastic._

_Today he is listening to a story told by a man who hadn't heard of this establishments reputation before hand, who had been here on actual business when he stopped in front of a beautifully done sign where the tea house's special rule was written (because he is a poor man and what little money he had was already alocated for some use or another)._

_He swallows a bite of tea-cake and finishes his story like this..._

Malik hesitates before his hand closes over the sword Kadar is holding. His hand doesn't shake, but the way colour drained from his face when his brother appeared belies the calm he is trying to project. He pulls away, leaving Kadar to keep hold of the white feather.

Altair snarls from where he is held back by two men (no, not men. Not even human). This is not meant to be a fight, but an execution.

"What is the meaning of this? Answer me, Malik!"

Malik's eyes hardened and the hesitation is gone when he strides over, hand clenched tightly around the beautifully decorated scabbard. "Foolish, arrogant man! You do not even understand the gravity of what you've done." The words are hissed with such venom, more suitable for a snake than a songbird (then again, Altair had always said, hadn't he? That apart from his voice there was little of him that resembled what he was).

"Then enlighten me." He sneers, head tipped back as if looking down at Malik despite his position. For a moment, anger blazed in Malik's eyes and Altair is sure it's taking every last shred of his self-control to not strike him. A wiser man would leave things well enough alone.

A wiser man probably would not have found himself in this situation to begin with.

"All this over some bauble?"

Malik breathing is deliberately even, a sure sign that he is trying very hard not to lash out and barely managing at that.

" _You bastard_. It was not just 'some bauble' and even if it were it was not yours to give away." He said quietly and evenly with a promise of barely restrained violence.

"I will get it back." Not so much for Malik's sake, but because it chafes to know he lost.

Altair is surprised when Malik laughs, sharp and bitter (and maybe just a little brittle).

"Unless you can manage that before evening falls it will matter little."

Malik's hand is shaking as he draws the sword. For as long as he's known him, Malik's hands have always been steady in everything he did, whether it was holding a weapon or stitching close a particularly awful wound or writing on paper. His are the steadiest hands he has seen...and they are trembling. More than Malik's anger, it is that that makes his chest tighten with regret. Worse yet, he cannot even tell if it is from anger or something he didn't even want to contemplate: Malik's expression is carefully blank now.

It struck Altair suddenly that he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him smile and for some reason it seemed important.

(He remembers the bite of winter and laughter. Remember's Malik's warm body pressed up against his side as they watch the snow fall.)

It had to have been months since then...surely there was another time--

\--but he couldn't think of a single one.

They stare at each other without moving or speaking. In the end, Altair is the first one to break eye-contact and close his eyes.

In the darkness he hears the scrape of metal as a sword is drawn...and then silence.

"...damn you."

It's not the words, but the clatter of metal hitting the ground that has Altair opening his eyes. Malik's expression, for the first time in too long is open and the expression on his face makes Altair's stomach drop.

Distantly a part of him realizes this is the last thing he will see of him. This bleak and hateful expression. The majority of his being rails against it and he strains against the arms holding him back as his instincts scream at him to do something, to grab hold of the man before him before he loses him forever.

"Damn you." Malik hisses again even as he takes a step back, even as Kadar reaches for him, expression every bit as bleak as his brother's as he screams his name.

Then Malik is gone, a bright yellow and black songbird flapping in the air where he had been for a second before flying away.

_Of course, there is no such thing as a story that is only an ending. So let us start again from the beginning, which happened over a decade ago._


	2. Chapter 2

It begins, as many stories do, with an act of kindness. 

(Though one could argue that it began even before Altair had been born, when his mother would open her window early in the morning as a girl just to listen to the birds sing, because more than kindness, it was her love of songbirds that made him act.)

Altair finds the bird (an oriole, his mother told him once while he sat in her lap on a warm, sunny afternoon) in one of the traps the people in town sometimes laid in the forest. Its wings and head are black with spots of white and its stomach a rich golden colour, and it is almost unnaturally still as it glared at Altair.

He is twelve, and already he was old enough to know that this is not the normal way birds behaved.

It did not bother him that much. He is called strange often enough by the village children that 'strange' didn't seem entirely bad.

The songbird doesn't flinch when he kneels beside the trap. Not even when he reaches out and slowly, carefully, takes it apart. Probably if he is caught he will be scolded, but his mother has always said that songbirds should not be caged, that they should be free.

Besides, whoever it is would have to actually _catch_ him first.

The he pulls the metal open and the songbird hops out, shaking itself when it does, and spreading its wings once then twice just because it could. Then, to Altair's surprise, it doesn't fly away and instead turns to regard Altair critically.

It chirps a short melody, somehow managing to sound moodier than any bird Altair has ever heard, before finally flying away.

When he tells his mother about it later that night, she laughs softly, looking less tired for a moment as she smooths a hand over his hair.

"Perhaps it was not a bird at all but a spirit." Because his mother loves those sorts stories though Altair has never seen much use for them.

~ + ~

It isn't long before Altair has put the whole encounter and the strange songbird out of his mind, even if he does look up sometimes when he hears the distant trill of birdsong in the forest. And he is in the forest more often than not, prefering the trees and the animals to the company of the townspeople and their pitying or scornful looks.

He much prefers the roofs to the trees in truth, but after the third time someone complained to his mother he went out into the forest instead. He is still unused to climbing trees, however, being much more used to the feel of stone and brick under his fingers, so it is that he over-estimated a branch's ability to hold his weight and, with a crack, Altair is sent falling into the river.

There's no time to prepare himself, and when he hits the water panic takes hold of him. Altair can barely think past the fact that he _can't breathe_ and he flails in an attempt to get back to the surface but everything is heavy and dull and he can't...just _can't_. His chest burns and instinctively opens his mouth and then he's breathing but it's the wrong thing going into his mouth and it _burns._ The world slowly goes dark around the edges and he swears he sees a hand reaching for him for him--

\--and then he's lying on dry ground and turned on his side. He coughs, shoulders hunched as he jerks further to the side, face nearly touching the ground if not for a firm hand on his shoulder holding him away from it.

He barely notices the hand rubbing soothing circles on his back until he's lying there, breathing heavily after he's done coughing out the water he'd swallowed.

Slowly, the hand on his shoulder turns him onto his back.

The face he sees hovering above his is that of a stranger...which is unusual. The town they live in is small, and Altair has a good memory for faces even if he's never been inclined to get to know anyone who lives in the town. Visitors are rare as well, and apart from the occasional pilgrim or merchant passing through, the only regular visitors they get are migratory birds. So he didn't expect to see a face he didn't recognize.

A hand smooths over his forehead.

"How are you feeling?" The man's voice is smoother than Altair expected. He half-expected something sharper, with a slightly higher pitch maybe, to match the man's almost too sharp features and strong jaw. Mostly, he's distracted by how wonderful it is to be alive and breathing in air.

"Like I nearly drowned." He croaks, voice still hoarse from the coughing.

The man chuckles.

"I can't imagine why."

He drapes a black robe over Altair and the man must have shed it before he jumped into the water because it's still dry. Then he slips an arm under Altair's knees, one behind his shoulders and picks him up in a smooth motion. The sudden change in height when the man stands is disorienting so soon, but not so disorienting that Altair couldn't manage to scowl and protest being held like some baby.

"I can walk!"

The man just let out a quite, amused hum and starts walking back towards the town. Struggling proves to be futile and Altair realizes that the robe is meant to keep him still as much as it is to help keep him warm. Eventually he settles for sullenly glaring at the man all the way back.

He couldn't help but grimace though, when he feels a pain in his chest, something he thought would go away now that he's no longer coughing, but it only seems to be getting worse the further they go. It didn't go unoticed.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes."

He gets a sharp look for that, "Do not lie to me, child."

"I'm not a child!"

A scoff, "Then stop acting like one." Then, "Is it your chest?"

Not liking to be seen through so easily, Altair only turned his head away.

As they go further though, he wonders if he shouldn't have said something. Breathing starts to become an increasingly difficult thing and the pain just didn't let up. And the coughing came back as well. At some point, Altair finds himself drifting out of conciousness and when he came to, he had his cheek pressed against the man's chest. He marvels for a moment at how quick it sounds like the man's heart was beating. Surely it shouldn't be going this fast at the speed he was moving at.

It is a pleasant sound though, and the man is wamr so Altair finds himself pressing closer. Until his mother's voice cuts through the air.

"Altair!" Then she's there, hovering over him, running her hand over his cheeks with wet eyes.

The rest of what happens is a bit of a blur, but Altair finds himself brought back into the house and placed gently on his cot. The man moves back and his mother takes his place at his side, making soothing sounds and petting his hair and face with trembling hands.

"Keep him on his side in case he expells more of the water." In contrast, the man's voice is calm, his touch sure as he brushes it, just once, over Altair's forehead. "I'll be back shortly with some medicine."

Altair tries to sit up, to ask the man's name, but then he's caught in a coughing fit and by the time it subsides, the man is gone.

~ + ~

He learns from his mother later when he's done drinking the foul, bitter medicine and retching out more water, that the man's name is Malik.

When he is recovered enough to get up, she puts the folded black robe edged in white (and richer than anything they've ever owned) into his arms and tells him to return it.

Altair doesn't bother asking around town and heads straight into the forest.

Technically, even if this Malik didn't come from the town, Altair still might find him there. There is a chance that a stranger had come into town and no one is talking about it in the same way it is entirely possible that it might snow during the middle of summer. Possible, however, is not the same as probable, and Altair has very little patiences to waste on searching for the man in a place where he's unlikely to be found.

If he has not moved on from this area, then, Altair reasoned, he's more likely to find him in the forest as anywhere else. He starts at the clearing where he'd fallen into the river. He stares up at the broken branch then at the running water and scowls. There's a fluttering of bird wing in the background, but it's such a mundane sound that Altair barely pays it any mind.

"I hope you're not planning on jumping in again."

Altair stiffens at the tone and whirls around, surprised to see Malik sitting on a large stone a little ways away, wearing a golden orange robe. He hides his embarrassment at being caught unawares with a glare, but Malik only tilts his head and laughs under his breath.

"Mother asked me to return this." And that's the only warning he gives before Altair tosses the robes their owner. He catches it easily and slips it on over his clothes. For a moment, Altair is reminded of the songbird with its golden breast framed by black wings tipped in white.

"Tell her thank you. And also tell her that there is nothing to worry about with regards to your health."

Because Altair would never have agreed to come just to check so his mother had made it into an errand. His glare turns suspicious, wondering how this man who had met him and his mother only once could possibly have guessed. All Malik does is lean back, placing his hands on the stone, looking far too amused for his liking.

"You are a healer then?"

"Of a sort."

Which is not an answer at all and Altair crosses his arms and snaps, "Do you alway speak in riddles?"

"Only to impudent children."

"I am no child!"

When the corner of Malik's mouth turned up into a smirk, Altair realizes the man was purposefully trying to get a rise out of him. Altair grits his teeth and throws up his hands and turns to leave.

"Forget it."

"You want to know if I can help your mother."

The words freeze Altair on the spot and he takes a deep breath before turning back to glare at Malik whose expression has become unreadable. Altair narrows his eyes.

"Are you a sorcerer?"

The accusation seems to amuse Malik, but he shakes his head, "Hardly."

More riddles. It takes real effort to not scowl, but Altair manages it, not wanting to rise to the bait a second time.

"So can you help her?" There is a sneer in his tone, something cocky and challenging. Malik only snorts at the display.

"And what would you give me if I could?" He asks lightly, as if merely curious.

Altair doesn't even hesitate in his reply.

"Anything."

And for the first time, Malik frowns and pushes off of the rock he was sitting on. Altai's shoulders tense, but he doesn't move back when Malik walks over to stand in front of him, expression serious as he crouches down to look up at Altair.

"You should not promise such a thing so easily, you fool."

It is Altair's turn to scoff, "Can you help or not?" And, Altair gets the distinct impression from the way Malik's jaw tightens that his not the sort to suffer being told off like this.

So it's a surprise when he doesn't just get up and leave as Altair half-expects him to.

"I can make no promises until I see her."

~ + ~

Altair knows the answer before Malik even says anything and he turns his head to glare at the street outside his home as if they were to blame for their lot in life.

If Malik had tried to apologize, it would have been ridiculously easy to turn that anger on him, to turn around and strike him, in the chest in the stomach...anywhere he could reach as he railed against the only tangible thing even if it's not what's killing his mother.

But Malik only lays a hand on his shoulder and promises to ease her pain as much as he can.

And then he is gone and Altair almost wishes he could hate him.

~ + ~

The next day, there is a package of dried herbs left outside their door with instructions written in the same hand the ones for Altair's medicine had been written in.

It is strange to realize how much pain and sickness had aged his mother over the years. How it had taken over her life so slowly that he'd barely realized until he woke to her bustling about the house, looking younger than she has in a long, long time.

Her smile is not the comfort it should be and he's running out of the house before she can stop him. He stays out late but not far, opting to climb up to the roof and stay there until long after dark. When he comes back in the door, his mother pulls him into her arms and pets his hair and _she knows_.

The realization makes him feel better in a way that he couldn't properly articulate.

In the end, they have a little more than a month.

Autumn is already creeping upon them as summer falls away on the morning when there's a faint 'tap tap tap' at the window. When the sound continues, persistent and irritating, Altair opens the window to reveal an oriole. It gives him an unimpressed stare and Altair is almost certain that its the same one from the trap.

"Oh." His mother says from where she's only just pushing herself up from the bed, "Hello, little one." She reaches a hand out and, to her surprise and delight, the songbird flies from the window to perch on her fingers.

Altair watches all this happening with something like dread in his stomach. It is like that moment when you realize a story is coming to an end, when, without even looking at the time or checking how many pages are left you know that every page, every scene, every word brings you closer to the last. For a wild moment, Altair wants to grab the bird and throw it out the window.

Instead, his hands curl into tight fists as he watches the small thing stand on his mother's bed. It begins to sing as his mother lies back down, eyes sliding shut with a peaceful smile as she listens.

~ + ~

The funeral is a modest thing and afterwards, Altair heads straight into the forest.

Altair is a creature of instinct. That is not to say that he doesn't think or use logic, but his mother once commented that he has instincts comparable to any wild animal. And Altair has always trusted them and they have yet to lead him wrong.

So he stops in the clearing he's come to expect Malik in and crosses his arms.

"You act nothing like a songbird."

Altair notes, with some satisfaction, that Malik appears surprised. But he doesn't deny it, and that's all the confirmation he needs.

"I doubt you know any personally so your opinion is invalid." He says dryly after he's gotten over his surprise. Then he waits as if he knows that's not all Altair came to say. (And it's not, but it annoys him that he can be so easily read.)

Spirits and demons are not born as such. If the stories are to be believed, Spirits begin life as all things do, as plants and animals and humans and, through enlightenment or by absorbing the living energy around them over centures achieve great powers and immortality. Demons are differentiated only in the manner they reach this state, through trickery or by stealing the energy of others.

He does not ask if Malik is a spirit or a demon: what he is didn't matter to Altair so much as what he does. What he does ask, with a glare, is something else.

"Why didn't you save her?"

"I already told you, there was nothing I could--"

"Liar!" The word is hissed, but with all the anger behind it, he may as well have yelled. His hands drop to his side and ball into fists. Just like the day Malik told him there was no way to save his mother, he's suddenly filled with a burning need to hit something, anything at all, and, once again, Malik is the closest target. He stalks over and it makes him angrier that Malik isn't even concerned enough to move away from where he was standing. "You are, if not a spirit, then a demon at least. You have powers beyond what humans are capable of! You could have done something!"

And this time, he does bring his hand up to strike him, but Malik catches his clumsy hit easily. He pulls Altair in by his wrist and wraps an arm around his shoulder. Still, Altair struggled, flailing and hitting whatever he could, however he could until he ran out of energy and slumped against Malik.

"Why couldn't you save her?" He said, voice raw and mostly muffled by the front of Malik's clothes.

Only then did Malik speak, his voice soft and calm.

"All things die, Altair. This is the one thing no one can change."

Though Malik's words were almost cold, the tone they were said in were not callous...and there was some comfort in that and in the hand he places on Altair's head. If he notices that Altair was clinging to him more tightly than he should, if he noticed the way his shoulders shook, then he gave no indication.

For that, if nothing else, Altair is grateful.

~ + ~

"There is a blacksmith in the city who is in need of a new apprentice." Maliks says after giving Altair time to scrub at his eyes after pushing away. "I know a man who could take you there and put in a good word for you."

Altair gives him a suspicious look, trying to gauge if the offer was made out of pity and already opening his mouth to decline, but Malik holds up hand to stop him.

"It was your mother's final request that I find a place for you. And a good blacksmith is always welcome in any place."

Altai wonders, briefly, when she had asked him this. There are times when Malik was there and Altair wasn't. Usually he stayed close enough that he could run back in if needed, but far enough that he couldn't hear what they talk about in hushed tones. He regretted it the day his mother died.

"Why go through all this trouble?" He asks instead, haughty because it is far easier to be that than to fall prey to the grief and regret again, "Because I saved you from a trap that you could have gotten out of yourself? I thought you debt would have already been repaid when you pulled me from the river."

"Because I gave her my word on this. And because I gave you my word that I would do everything I could to ease her passing." He looks at Altair as if judging him for having such a poor memory for forgetting.

Altair scowls back. "No one would know if you did not."

"I would know." Malik begins almost loftily, but his eyes are piercing when he continues and Altair could not bring himself to look away, "It is important to keep your word. You would do well to remember that."

And Altair takes that as well as any twelve year old boy with too much arrogance and, in Malik's opinion, far too little sense, would. Which is to say, not at all.

"Save your lectures."

~ + ~

But a few days later, Altair does leave town with an older gentleman who is far too chipper for Altair's liking.

On the day of his departure, he turns to Malik while the man he's supposed to leave with loads another box of pottery onto the wagon.

"Can't you take me instead?" He asks from where he's sitting at the front of the wagon already.

Malik, at least, doesn't seem like he'd talk his ears off.

"I'm headed south, I'm afraid." He said with a smirk while not sounding even the least bit sorry. He reachs up to ruffle Altair's hair, and the boy leans away from the touch as Malik chuckles. "Safety and peace, Altair."

Malik steps away from the wagon after he bids the man taking Altair goodbye. He's still standing there watching them go when the horse begins to move, but when Altair leans over to look behind after they pass the town gates, he only sees a black and golden bird flit away.

It would be years before they meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing almost always ends with me googling the strangest things. This time it was: what does drowning feel like.
> 
> Also please excuse me as I try to figure out if the next chapter I have partially written is, in fact, the next chapter or not. I thought it was, then I thought it wasn't and now I don't even know anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who subscribed to this story: happy holidays and thank you for your support! I'd promise that the next chapter won't take as long but who even knows with me...

There is a trill of birdsong before it turns into laughter as a small, grey finch turns into a young man with dark skin and hair and bright blue eyes.

"I win, brother." He says breathlessly to Malik who shifts from bird to human as well. 

"Only barely, Kadar." The fondness in Malik's eyes belies the dryness of his tone.

Both their clothes reflect the colours of the bird they are with Malik wearing a black over over a warm golden-orange robe, and Kadar dressed entirely in grey edge with yellow. Had anyone noticed, they may also have noted that their clothes had no seams. Of course, very few people would bother to look at all.

There is the call of another bird and both of them turn their heads to listen.

Kadar turns back to Malik and grins, the expression always coming easier to him that it does his older brother.

"It seems the Lady calls."

A nod. "Tell her I will join you later."

Because though they call her 'Lady' they are not her servants. She comes from further East, and when they had been young (never quite children, but still young nevertheless) they hadn't been able to pronounce her name properly. She hadn't minded, only laughed, bright and amused at their attempts, so they had settled on calling her something else. Kadar never did manage to get her name perfect, having very little patience or talent for languages and Malik managed only because his pride would not settle for failure.

It is now habit as much as respect for the woman who had taken them, pretty much literally, under her wing when they had first become what they are now centuries ago.

Kadar nods as well, and turns to leave, shifting back into a finch mid-step. Malik watches him disappear between the trees, listening for the tell-tale 'snap' of a trap and only turning to leave when he is sure he hears none.

Walking had been a novelty when he first achieved a human form. It has since lost that and become just another means of getting from one place to another. They had flown all the way here, however, and it never hurts to have some variety in his life. He heads for his usual haunt in this area, a quiet clearing where he could sit and just listen to the sound of the river. It helps that very few people ever venture this far into the forest so he usually has the place to himself apart from the occasional bird or rabbit.

So he is surprised to find someone already there.

Malik stops at the edge of the clearing and frowns. Technically, he has no claim over the spot, but he spends enough time here during the summer months that he can't help but feel territorial. It seems, Malik thinks with no small amount of exasperation, that there are instincts even centuries cannot entirely wipe away. He considers his options for a split second before stepping in the clearing anyway. If neither of them have any real claim over this place (and Malik could not really consider any human as having claim over this forest when they've been coming here since long before there was even a town here) then there is no reason why he should not be here.

The man sitting on his rock looks up at the sound of his footsteps on the grass. It seems this one has good ears. He turns his head and for a brief moment there's a flash of recognition. Then a smirk steals its way over the man's face.

"So it is true that your kind do not age."

Malik stops in his tracks. Too many are those who did not bother to differentiate between spirit and demon, deciding in their ignorance that any they meet are the latter and always malicious...and this is only counting those who should know better, the monks and scholars and so-called-wisemen who are taught the difference and often have the power to figure out what they are before trying to kill them. Malik had never been impressed by stupidity and wilful ignorance but has developed a special sort of intolerance for it after it had nearly cost him Kadar some decades back.

And that is why he regards the man (little more than a boy, he realizes now that he's closer) with suspicion. The man's smirk doesn't fade at Malik's glare. In fact, he stands up and walks towards him.

"Safety and peace, Malik."

Now, _that_ has Malik's eyebrow shooting up in surprise. He did not, as a matter of precaution, often give out his name to mortals. Not only that, but that's a greeting he had picked up from the place he'd been born and he hasn't heard it come from the mouth of a mortal for a very, very long time. It had disappeared along with the men in white robes shadowed by the stench of blood who had once occupied a remote stone castle that is over-grown with plants and over-run by animals. Malik himself only visits but once a year when they pass through on their way to other places.

Then he does another double-take when he realizes why this person seemed so familiar.

"Altair."

Of course it's him. For all the growing he's done, Malik can still see a lot of the child he'd pulled out of the river six years ago in this young man before him. He's taller now with broader shoulders and a deeper voice so unlike the scrawny child who had fit so easily in the circle of his arms and a voice made just a bit higher and tighter by grief and tears. There's a new scar bisecting his mouth and it's different but does little to change his features. And his eyes are still that same golden colour that Malik has never seen on another human.

Still, it had caught him off guard for a moment both because he forgets sometimes that six years is no small amount of time for mortals and because, last he'd heard from an acquaintance, the blacksmith Altair was apprenticed under, having no sons of his own, had intended to leave everything to him.

If Malik had expected to see him anywhere at all (which he hadn't. Not really. The world was a large place after all and, in the grand scheme of Things Malik Thought About, meeting Altair again wasn't something he spent a lot of time on), it wouldn't have been here.

Altair stops barely an arm's length from him, his expression amused. Malik wonders if Altair's always been such a cheeky brat and he only hadn't realized because of the circumstances of their meeting.

"I'm as tall as you, now."

"As you said: I do not grow." he shrugs and brushes past Altair, "human children, on the other hand, apparently grow like weeds." he turns and drops down on the rock that Altair had vacated.

Altair snorts, "I'm hardly a child any more."

And Malik looks him up and down as if considering that statement seriously, before looking Altair right in the eye and telling him dryly, "somehow I doubt that."

~ + ~

It wouldn't be until later that Malik brings up the question of just why Altair was back. He had come to the conclusion that it was to visit his mother's grave after that first meeting. Except Altair is still there after a few weeks. Not only that, but he has this annoying tendency to appear in the clearing, often when Malik would have liked some time to himself.

Altair's expression becomes blank and guarded in the way that Malik is beginning to realize means he's hiding something at the question.

"The local blacksmith was looking to hire a journeyman and I came highly recommended."

Malik frowns. 

"You had better prospects in the city." He knows because he'd made sure before sending the idiot there. All for naught, it would seem.

Altair, who had looked away at the beginning of this conversation, breathed in as if steeling himself, then turned back to Malik, "There are things I cannot find in the city." And he says it in a meaningful way, but whatever it is he means is lost on Malik. 

In the end, he only shrugs.

"What you do with your life is none of my business, I suppose." Then he raises a brow at the way Altair scowls and looks away. "What?"

"...nothing." The word is practically ground out and then Altair is stalking out of the clearing.

Malik watches him leave and shakes his head. Humans can be so strange sometimes.

~ + ~

Altair doesn't show up for long enough that Malik notices. It's a little over half a month before he notices mostly because they meet only sporadically. Altair isn't always in the clearing and Malik himself doesn't follow any set schedule when choosing to visit this spot himself. It wasn't odd to go a whole week without them meeting.

Malik does notice, however, when a second week goes by without Altair ever setting foot in the clearing (and he is sure because he had asked some of the birds that lived nearby just in case Malik had missed him).

It does not occure to him that Altair might be, for some reason or another, avoiding him. It seems more likely that the fool had done something to injure himself or was busy.

After the third week, Malik perches on the branch of a tree near the towns forge and waits. He only wanted to make sure Altair hadn't maimed himself in some spectacular way. Malik had given his word, after all, to make sure he would find a good place for him. (And, maybe, just maybe, Malik did not mind Altair's company as much as he'd thought.)

He'd planned to leave as soon as he'd confirmed that Altair was still in good health. He hadn't expected Altair to notice him. He does though and he's wearing a comical look of surprise that changes to uncertainty after a moment. He glances around surreptitiously, but doesn't call out to Malik even though there wasn't anyone there.

Birds are not, in generally, made to snort or scoff. Their throats just aren't built that way even though a few could probably mimic the sound. So Malik only does it in his head though he hopes at least some of that translates in the impatient flutter of wings before he takes for the skies again.

~ + ~

"You were in town yesterday."

It is not phrased as a question but there's still a hint of uncertainty in the tone, as if Altair wasn't sure what to make of this development.

Malik looks down at him from where he's lounging in one of the trees surrounding the clearing that was their usual meeting place. It was almost uncanny how Altair seemed to be able to tell it was him, not once but twice. Then again, some people had a gift for these sorts of things...or perhaps it was something closer to animal instinct? The edge of his mouth turns up slightly in humour. As he recalled, humans tended to call people like that 'simple', didn't they?

"I _do_ go into town occasionally. And not just to return children who fall into rivers."

Malik expects Altair to scowl or demand a better answer.

He does neither of those things. Instead his mouth thins into a line before he looks away. He's clearly irritated by _something_ but Malik couldn't quite place what. On top of that, it's difficult to see Altair's face from his vantage point and Malik is two seconds away from demanding Altair just _tell_ him what has him acting like the petulant child he keeps claiming he's not.

Altair beats him to it though.

"You never came before."

And it takes Malik a moment to respond because he doesn't even understand what Altair was getting at.

"I haven't exactly had any occasion to go into town recently."

"Did you also not have any occasion visit during the last six years?" The way he says it is so accusatory and bitter and the same feelings and reflected in Altair's eyes when he looks up.

And Malik is completely thrown for a loop by it because... _this was what was bothering him this entire time?_ Of all the things--

He shifts, moving to sit with his legs dangling from the branch. "I knew you were in good hands." Malik had met up with the man he'd sent Altair off with a couple of times, and each time he was more than happy to supply news about the boy. Malik hadn't even needed to ask. He also remembers that his friend had told him, more than once, that he really should go to see the boy himself. He had never said why, and Malik never asked, but he always said, when the subject came up, that _surely_ , Altair would like to see him.

And it seems he might have been right.

"Did it make such a difference whether I visited or not?"

Altair doesn't reply, unwilling to admit that 'yes, it made a world's difference' and unable to say that 'no, it made no difference at all'.

"You are sulking." Malik points out helpfully.

Altair glares then huffs, looking away and doesn't respond.

_He was a child who had just lost his only family and, for all that he was angry at you for not saving his mother, you were the only person he knew._

It hadn't taken long to figure out that the town had treated Altair as an outsider when he'd been a child. Chances are he did not think of them too fondly in return. Still, he had grown up here, had known the faces and houses and surrounding land. And then Malik had uprooted him from all of that. If it had been Kadar...

Malik frowns.

If it had been Kadar, it would not have satisfied him to not see for himself that his little brother was fine. Surely a child who had been placed in a new city without a face he recognized would have been lonely. For all that Altair had flourished in that new environment and picked up a useful trade, for all that he had agreed to go to the city, he must also have felt that way at first.

In the end, Malik sighs and pushes off from the branch to land on the grass. This conversation really wasn't going the way Malik was expecting it to. Then again, he's beginning to realize nothing that has to do with Altair ever really goes the way he expects it to.

"I _had_ asked after you, you know." Altair's face is still turned away, but at this height, Malik could tell he's watching him from the corner of his eyes at least, though it is difficult to try to read the expression on his face, "but I apologize for not visiting. That was ill-done of me."

Altair's only response was to nod. It was not the apology that mollified him, that took the sting out of the words Malik had so carelessly spoken before, but it helped.

"It is in the past."

~ + ~

Weeks later, Malik is surprised when Altair presents him with a sword. Its heft and shape makes it obvious what the item is despite the linene wrapped around it. Malik holds it with one hand and unwraps it with the other, revealing the hilt of the sword.

It is a finely crafted thing that could probably fetch a good price with the correct buyer and he tells Altair as much.

"It is for you."

That gives Malik pause, his hand frozen where it had drawn the sword out halfway.

They have spoken many times since they had spoken frankly about Malik's absence weeks ago. The subjects ranged from Altair's life the last six years and the places Malik had seen. There had been one day when Malik had lectured Altair over an injury he had sustained during work, and the poor work the local doctor had done patching him up. He had stopped then, just like now, mid-sentence when he caught the look on Altair's face.

He had avoided bringing attention to it, but Malik was not stupid. Altair had said, hadn't he?

_"There are things I cannot find in the city."_

He pushes the sword back into its sheath and carefully re-wraps it.

"This must stop." And it is not what Altair wants to hear, this much is obvious from the way his shoulders tense and his expression turns confused (and hurt), "Surely, you know nothing good ever comes from associating with spirits." He says as he holds the sword back out to Altair.

"They are but stories." Altair answers sourly, crosses his arms and refuses to take back the gift, "nothing but wives-tales."

Malik shakes his head, "All stories have a degree of truth to them, Altair."

Altair only glares and says, "Do not lecture me like a child."

It is, Malik realizes, fundamentally a difference in the way they see the world. For Altair six years is probably a long time. It isn't that Malik didn't think it was impressive for an infatuation to last that long, but at the same time, for Malik, six years is really no time at all.

It is why relationships like these hardly ever work out. Some differences, Malik reasons, are simply too great to over-come.

He didn't have the choice the voice it before Altair puts a hand on the sword and pushes it firmly back towards Malik.

"It is yours. Whether you want it or not I am not taking it back."

Then he takes a step back, as if daring Malik to say anything. And there is nothing _to_ say because he is sure Altair will do whatever he pleases regardless of what Malik says.

In the end he accepts the sword because Altair would leave it to the elements if Malik refused and it would be a terrible waste, but he makes it clear that it is only the sword he is accepting (not all those unspoken things Altair offers so foolishly.)

~ + ~

They leave again in autumn as the last of the leaves fall.

"When will you return?" Altair asks because he still comes as often as he could to meet Malik at the clearing.

"We should return by mid spring." And Malik thinks that perhaps some distance will do them both good because Malik finds himself looking forward to these meetings more than he should.

Altair nods, "I will meet you here."

"Altair--"

"I am no longer a child, Malik." Altair cuts him off with a hiss, "I know what it is I want."

Malik shakes his head, irritated by Altair's insistence and the way he interrupted him, and it is, in its own way, a dismissive gesture that Altair's temper flairs. He steps forward, and frames Malik's face with his hands, is surprised by the way Malik expects it, but that is quickly offset by the way his expression does not change.

"I will not change my mind over the winter."

"We will see."


End file.
